Chapter 46
by jmsutherland
Summary: Aftermath.


Page **14** of **14**

**Chapter XLVI**

While the sky continued its attempt to empty itself the square seemed to be rapidly trying to do the same. The Watch was gathering its dead and wounded into the Civic Centre as the emergency Igors and nurses began to appear. The mob meanwhile was not merely endeavouring to get out of the place as fast as it possibly could but pretend it had never been there in the first place; it didn't seem to give a flying tuppence about its own casualties.

Tiffany swept Moo up into her arms and clutched her to her bosom as tightly as she thought she dared, while Agnes hugged them both. They were all three weeping, not that anyone would have been able to tell, what with all the water and all.

"I did it, didn't I, miss?" said Moo.

"Yes, darling, you did it!" cried Tiffany, managing to weep and laugh simultaneously.1 She had never felt more relief in her entire life, nor more joy, even in the midst of all this misery. And then she felt something from Moo, or rather she didn't. She exchanged a look with Agnes and saw that she hadn't felt it too.

"Right," she said, firmly, "let's get you inside before we all drown."

Both Tiffany and Agnes tried to laugh, but their hearts really weren't in it. Moo hadn't noticed.

Smite found Lucy's tiny naked body splayed on the open ground. She was so small that he supposed that she was easy to overlook, but it still appalled him to see her lying there so obviously neglected. He knelt by her side and checked, pointlessly, for a pulse –there wasn't one. He crossed her skinny arms over her chest, placed her legs together and laid his cloak over her. Then he bowed, laid his hand on her head and began to mourn.

He was weeping so profoundly –more than he'd thought possible or than anyone had ever done before- that it took him some time to notice that someone was standing over them. He'd rather that it had been a friend but he needed someone, anyone, with whom he could share his grief.

"She's dead!" he howled, his soul more raw than one of Sally's steaks.

Igor bent over and uncovered her face, jutht to make thure.

"Yeth," he agreed, "thee'll be fine in a thort time."

Smite was so far past astonishment that he couldn't even see it when he looked over his shoulder.

"What!?" he yelled through the torrent, "but she isn't breathing and doesn't have a pulse!"

"That ith perfectly normal for a vampire. In no time at all thee'll be as right as…" He paused and gestured around him. "Well, thith stuff."

Even the greatest philosopher-poet on the Disc wouldn't have been able to put into words what Smite was feeling at that moment.

"Do you mean…?" was all he could manage, before he looked down at Lucy and found that she'd opened her eyes and was smiling at him.

"Hello, darling," she said.

Smite couldn't speak; his mind had long since gone home for tea at his mum's house, leaving only a tortured heart and a bleeding soul here on this simple piece of bereft and sacred ground. He grabbed her and clasped her to his chest as tightly as his strong, hard, young arms were capable of. So tightly in fact that Lucy thought it almost tickled.

"Did you miss me, darling," she laughed.

Smite released her, looked at her beautiful, wonderful little face and then kissed her; kissed her with all the passion that his whole being had been storing up since he'd first become aware of what desire was. For her part, Lucy responded in kind, though she'd only become aware of what passion was a few seconds before. When their lips finally parted he looked into her dark, astonishing eyes and made a vow:

"My love," he said, and the thunderclap made it all the more dramatic, "I swear on my mother's life, by Brutha and by Om Himself, that so long as I live I shall not be parted from you again and shall allow neither harm to hurt ever come to you."

Lucy made a promise to herself that she would, from that moment on, allow him to appear to be protecting her. And their children.

"I humbly accept your proposal, my lord," she laughed.

They kissed again and then stared lovingly into each other's eyes. It was a moment as close to perfect bliss that either of them had ever been able to imagine. And then Kubwa walked past carrying a body. It was Patrick.

Smite looked up imploringly at Igor but he shook his head; mind you, it didn't need the medical skills of an Igor to see that Patrick was never going to be waking-up, ever again.

"In the midst of joy we will always find despair,"2 Smite quoted, almost to himself, and Lucy clutched his hand.

"Perhapth you thould get her in out of the rain," Igor suggested before moving on.

"I have to get back to the paper," said Sacharissa excitedly. Whatever the tragedy, the story had to be told.

"I think we should wait a little while," Susan advised, "all the streets will be clogged."

"But that could take forever," Sacharissa said, clearly exasperated.

"Oh, I think people will be trying to get inside as quickly as they can, and not just because of the rain."

"Hmmph!"

"In any case, don't you want to go to the hospital first?"

"No, why?"

"To let Honeysuckle know that you're alright," said Susan, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes, of course," agreed Sacharissa. A lot of this stuff was new to her.

"That's nearer, so the streets will be clear sooner, and in any case it's on the way."

"Yes, right, we'll do that."

"But we'll still need to wait a little while," Susan cautioned.

"Yes, quite right," said Susan, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. And then she looked around her, at the scene she was going to be reporting.

Perhaps she really did need to work on how she prioritised things, she concluded.

The Civic Centre was frantic, but far from chaotic. Carrot was in overall charge but it was a team effort. Harry was in charge of sifting –aided by Sally, who had found her clothes, and Vlad- they were very good at it. There were a lot of people in category 1: people whose injuries weren't too severe and who could be adequately treated on the spot by the nurses and Igors that they had on hand. Fortunately, though not for the poor wretches themselves, there weren't many in category 2: those for whom any treatment, immediate or not, was unlikely to make any difference. Young Omnian volunteers were comforting these, now that they'd been drugged. Unfortunately, there were also quite a lot of people in category 3, and these were Stronginthearm's responsibility.

The nurses and Igors had brought stretchers with them from the hospital and it was these that the dwarfs were now using to carry the casualties back to I&U. The ambulance wagons would arrive eventually but the packed streets meant that it would take a while and the delay could easily turn a category 3 into a category 2. If tonight had shown the city at its worst then this was it at its best, Carrot thought.

Tiffany and Agnes came in with Moo and caught Harry's eye. He immediately came over to speak with them.

"That was just absolutely incredible," he gushed, "and you are the hero of the night," he added, directly to Moo.

"We need to talk to you about Moo," said Tiffany.

"I'm a bit busy," he said, gesturing around him, "can it wait?"

"I suppose," said Tiffany, seeing his point, "but not for long."

"Ok," said Harry, realising that he owed them everything, "come to The Yard tomorrow. In the meantime Corporal Dorfl will escort you back to the Nurses' Home."

Suddenly huge a shadow appeared over all four of them. The three witches turned and looked up, and up and up…into the glowing eyes of the golem. He must have noticed the looks of fear on all three of their faces as he tried to put them at their ease:

"I'm just a big teddy-bear, really," he rumbled, and Moo laughed.

"Your in safe hands," Harry reassured them.

"Well, if we're not," giggled Agnes, nervously, "then nobody is."

"Until tomorrow," said Harry, and went back to separating. It was a task that he was finding rather more distressing than he'd thought he could.

Lucy hadn't been able to find her clothes so when she and Smite reported to Harry she was wearing nothing but a dripping cloak; he'd at least been able to find her a dry blanket.

"I'm sorry about Patrick," he said with genuine feeling; he knew how close they'd been.

"Thank you, sir," said Smite.

"Can I assume you'll be informing the relatives?"

"Yes, sir."

If Patrick had had any relatives then Smite didn't know them; but he knew exactly whom he had to inform.

"I need to tell Blister," he said to Lucy when they were alone, "and Kate, of course."

"I'll come with you," she said.

"No, I have to do this alone."

She didn't think it appropriate to remind him of the vow he had made only a few moments before.

"I promise that this is the last thing we shall not do together."

It was almost as though he could read her thoughts as easily as she could read his.

"Alright, my love."

"But I can walk you to the Nurses' Home."

"No, I'll go and see to your mum."

"Soon to be your mum too," he reminded her with a smile.

"I'll wait for you so that we can tell her together."

With that they kissed goodbye, briefly and then he began his miserable, sodden trudge to Morpork Mercy.

When he got there Blister was on a break. She gave him a huge, beaming smile and, when he didn't return it, he watched her face crumple and her whole body slump.

"Don't even say the words," she sobbed as he held her tightly to him and could almost feel the grief that was wracking her.

After a few minutes he decided to speak.

"Would you like me to take you home?" he asked.

He felt the change immediately. She pushed him gently away, squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"No," she said firmly, "mourning is for later; for now I have work to do. And so do you."

With that she left him and went back to the Urgency room. Nurses?! he thought, were they born that way?

The front door of The Duck was locked but he let himself in the side way.

"Hello, Smite," said Kate from behind the bar, "I've been expecting you."

Smite wasn't in the least surprised.

"I have something to tell you," he said.

"You look as if you could do with a drink. What can I get you?"

"Green Fairy, please," he said, gratefully.

"Pint?"

"Please."

"I'll get his will," she said, when she'd poured his drink.

"How did you know?" he asked, when she came back from the cellar.

"Because he did," she replied.

"I don't understand," said Smite, after taking a large gulp of the aniseed nectar.

"He came in here last night and gave me this," she said, "which I shall take round to his shyster's in the morning."

"Who is his shyster, by the way?"

"Soo, Grabbit & Runne," Kate replied.

"A very reputable firm," said Smite approvingly.

"I suppose," said Kate, with a shrug, "as these things go."

"So he knew he was going to die but he went anyway?" asked Smite.

"Of course he went anyway," she said, "you knew him at least as well as I did."

"Yes," Smite agreed, "you're right."

"What are you going to do now?" Kate asked.

"I need to get back to Lucy but I have to get her some dry clothes first."

"Oh, I can give you some clothes for her," said Kate.

"Erm," said Smite, giving her a funny look.

"Listen, young man," Kate laughed, "they are very old clothes and I used to be a great deal smaller. Not as small as Lucy, mind you, but she's a vampire and the clothes will fit themselves to her."

"I'm sure she'll be very grateful," said Smite, managing a chuckle of his own."

While Kate went to get the clothes Smite drank his drink and thought about his dead friend, and also about himself. He wondered if, had he known he was going to die tonight, he would still have still gone. He thought that, on balance, he probably wouldn't have.

When Kate came back with the clothes, wrapped in a waterproof sheet, he thanked her, drained his glass and prepared to go. As he was leaving, Kate asked him a last question:

"Smite, where did Patrick think he was going after he died?"

"He was an atheist," he replied, "so he didn't think he was going anywhere. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, "I just hope he was right."

When they arrived at the hospital Sacharissa was soaking wet –though she noticed that Susan seemed perfectly dry- and mightily annoyed.

"I saw some of these people in the square tonight," she hissed.

"Well, yes, that's hardly surprising," said Susan, "there were a great many injured."

"No, I mean on _their_ side," she growled, "look, some of them are even wearing that damn cross!"

"Where else should they go?" Susan asked.

"I don't care," said Sacharissa, annoyed that Susan didn't agree with her.

"Really?" said Susan, with a strange look on her face; or at least a stranger one than normal.

"Yes," Sacharissa insisted, "I don't know why the Igors and nurses are even bothering with these people."

"A nurse would treat you even if you'd killed her mother and an Igor would still try to save your life, even if you'd just cut one of his arms off."

"Why!?" Sacharissa demanded.

"It's their vocation," Susan said, with a shrug, "it's what they do."

"Well, they shouldn't."

"I'll try to pass on your advice."

Then Sacharissa spotted Honeysuckle. Her face flashed with joy and she ran towards her. They embraced, warmly, and kissed, briefly –there were a lot of people around.

"Gods, I'm so glad to see you!" Honeysuckle gushed.

"And I you, girlfriend," Sacharissa agreed, with all her heart.

"I was so worried," said Honeysuckle, breathlessly.

"It's alright," soothed Sacharissa, stroking her hair, "it's all over now."

"Are you sure?" asked Honeysuckle, still looking scared.

Sacharissa turned to look at Susan, who nodded.

"Absolutely sure," she reassured her, "are you ready to leave?"

"Not yet," said Honeysuckle, "but soon."

"Alright, but don't be too long; we need to make the first edition."

"I won't be long," Honeysuckle said.

"I'll see you at the paper."

They touched each other's cheeks and then Sacharissa turned to go.

"Are you coming?" she asked Susan as she passed.

"No," said Susan, "I think you're safe now. I'm going to stay here and see if I can help."

"Ok," said Sacharissa, "thank you, for everything." It was grudging, but genuine.

"You're most welcome," said Susan.

As Sacharissa reached the door she had a thought: I'm not sure that _your_ help is really the sort that these people are hoping for.

"I heard that!" Susan called after her and Sacharissa sped into the night.

She literally couldn't believe how hard it was still raining. Well, perhaps not _literally_ –the evidence was absolutely drenching, after all- but _figuratively couldn't believe_ didn't have quite the same oomph! The streets were running with water like little rivers, while the river itself… In a normal summer the Ankh would already have been oozing its banks. Fortunately, this wasn't a normal summer. She'd noticed, over a week ago, that it had sunk beyond its historic low-water mark, so by now it probably looked just like a normal river: full of nothing but water. For the first time in her life the streets were probably clean, though gods knew what was happening in the cellars.

Back at base _The Guadrian_ was a termite mound of activity, –more haste, less accuracy- sort of. Gudrun was working as hard and as fast as her tough, young body would allow her, in spite of the bandages on her arm and head and her huge blackeye. From what she could tell from the shouts, Otto was doing the same in his darkroom. William was chewing pencils as if he hadn't eaten in weeks and Selene was… standing in a corner looking on, selenely.

"Where have you been!?" William demanded.

"I was delayed," said Sacharissa, soaking the floor by simply shaking some off the rain off her. Gudrun howled in protest.

"Oh, sorry," Sacharissa apologised.

"And what delayed you?" he wanted to know.

"Er, a riot!" she explained, incredulously.

"Oh, yes," he conceded, thoughtful for a second, "Anyway, what have you got?"

"I've got the story," she exclaimed, triumphantly.

"No," he corrected her, "you've got _a_ story."

"No," she re-corrected him, "I've got _the_ story. I'm very definite about this article."

Reading Selene's face was neither an art nor a science; rather it was a little of both. William had made a profound study of it and what he saw now was a question: did she just make a joke about grammar?

"Right, show me what you've got," he demanded.

"I haven't written it yet."

"What!?" he yelled.

"It's a bit wet out there!" she yelled back, "hadn't you noticed? The ink would have run."

He should have been able to concede at least this point.

"Never mind the weather," he said, "just get in there and get to work."

He'd indicated his office and, as she headed towards it in a sulk, she noticed the front-page drying around the walls. It was a photo that Otto had taken of the thing, in all its dreadful majesty. The banner headline was: NIGHT TERRORS. She had one of her own, though she doubted that the editor would find it acceptable: ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT.

1 Which is good multitasking, even for a woman.

2 Pariah, Chapter 13, Verse 13.


End file.
